Potter in Green: Year II
by paltropie
Summary: On the 1st of September 1991, Harry Potter chose Slytherin over Gryffindor, and suddenly, Second Year is no longer what it would have been.
1. Pleas

Chapter 1: Pleas

 ** _Draco,_**

 ** _Why aren't you returning my letters? I haven't received a single letter in the four days I've been here – not from Theo or Blaise or Millicent or even you, and we promised to write each other, didn't we? Did I do something wrong? I'm scared, Draco. Every day I spend here without an answer, it seems to me, more and more, that first year was all a dream and I'll wake up in a minute locked in the cupboard again and if that's the case then the Dursleys were right and I'm really a freak after all I mean who's crazy enough to dream up such a thing_**

 ** _please send me a letter, draco, anything to just let me know you're hearing me_**

 ** _i know i said it wouldnt be so bad, and its not, but i cant stay here anymore_**

 ** _whatever ive done, im sorry_**

 ** _please, come get me_**

The quill fell limp in Harry's hand, and he stared at the words he'd written, inhaling sharply. To see his thoughts like that, out on paper… He shut the pain out and scoffed, cursing his own weakness.

 _Bloody hell, I'm not five anymore._

 _Friends_ , he thought bitterly. _What a joke._

In a fit of blinding anger, Harry snarled, squeezing the quill so hard it snapped. He hissed in pain as it pierced skin, and scowling at it in betrayal he flung it at the wall. From her cage in the corner, Hedwig hooted, looking concerned. Harry forced a smile. At this point, the snowy owl was the only thing anchoring him.

"I'm fine, Hedwig. Just being stupid, is all."

Hedwig hooted again, and Harry's lip twitched. It sounded like she agreed with him.

"Boy!" a voice thundered from downstairs.

Harry rolled his eyes; he couldn't believe he still had to deal with this. He pushed his chair back, his eyes narrowed at the smudged and blotted parchment. Sighing, he scrunched it up and tossed it into the bin – that letter would not see daylight past these four walls.

"Don't make me come up there, boy!"

"I'm coming, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered, testily.

His uncle was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking bigger than ever. He didn't scare Harry though, not anymore; after Voldemort, everything else paled in comparison.

"What," Harry demanded, knowing he was pushing it, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Uncle Vernon wasn't a fast man, not by any means, but Harry was caught off guard. It was the first time a hand had come flying at him in a year, and he hadn't yet become accustomed to ducking. The backhand caught Harry full on the face and he jerked, almost slamming into the wall.

"I'll have none of your cheek under my roof, boy," Uncle Vernon growled.

Harry put a hand to his lip and winced as it came away bleeding.

 _Damn,_ Harry thought, knowing that it would bruise.

Harry glared, but Uncle Vernon raised his hand, and Harry shrank back – he wasn't about to go looking for another one.

"Sorry," he muttered, knowing he'd brought it upon himself.

Harry had the irrational urge to laugh – _well, he certainly missed having me around_.

Steadying himself, Harry wiped the blood off on his shirt. It mattered little; Aunt Petunia had never asked questions anyway.

"Give me your bloody stick," Vernon grunted, his beady eyes aimed at Harry nastily. "The Masons will be over tonight, and I won't stand for any of your funny business."

Harry rose to his full height, internally snorting. The man was dreaming if he thought Harry would simply hand over his wand. It was safe in his trunk upstairs, and safe there it would remain.

"You're not having it, sir," Harry stated, and his uncle looked stumped by the blatant defiance.

Uncle Vernon lunged for Harry, but this time, Harry was quicker, rushing up the stairs.

"I don't think you realise, Uncle Vernon, just how dangerous my _bloody stick_ can be for a Muggle," Harry drawled, in an imitation of Draco. "Men have found themselves on the wrong end of a wand, and they were wizards."

He fixed a challenging stare on Uncle Vernon.

"You're welcome to try, though."

The man hesitated, and Harry knew he'd won. Vernon Dursley was a coward, and that fact would never change, much to Harry's satisfaction. It made him that much easier to exploit.

"Fine, have it your way. But you'd better stay in your room–"

"Making no sound and pretending that I don't exist," Harry finished.

"Interrupt me again, boy, and your bird gets it," he threatened. "I still have the shotgun."

Harry jerked out a nod, knowing the man had no qualms making good on them.

"Don't bother coming down for dinner tonight," Uncle Vernon said, dismissing Harry.

Harry sighed, but took comfort in the fact that he had a stash of food hidden away, under a loose floorboard. The Trolley Lady had looked at him oddly when he'd purchased such a horde, but she hadn't said anything – _and there was the problem, wasn't it?_

Flopping down on the bed, Harry wondered if Dumbledore knew what really went on here (of all people to know the full extent of things, it'd be him) – and made him come back, anyway. In all honesty, Harry wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. And being Slytherin probably hadn't helped his chances, either.

Sometimes, in the darkest of nights, he wondered what it'd be like if he had chosen Gryffindor instead.

 _Merlin, I hate it here_ , he thought, staring glumly at the ceiling _._

Hedwig, perhaps sensing his depressive mood, flew over to him. Hooting, she nudged him under the chin.

"It's nothing, Hedwig," he soothed, stroking her feathers. "I shouldn't have set him off."

Hedwig tilted her head, studying Harry with what he thought was a critical expression for an owl.

"I know, but it won't get much worse than this," Harry whispered. "Draco's… he's supposed to come take us to the Manor."

Try as he might, Harry just could not put that matter to rest, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

 _They'd better have a good reason, or I swear to Merlin…_

Hedwig nipped at his ear, as though she knew where his thoughts were going, and had taken it upon herself to scold him. Harry laughed, the tension draining out of him, and drew the covers around himself. Comforted by Hedwig's presence, he fell into one of the best sleeps he'd had in months.

If only that sleep was an indication of only good things to come.

* * *

When Harry awoke, it was to the sound of a car door slamming. He yawned, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He glanced at Hedwig's cage, and seeing it empty, smiled.

 _Well,_ he thought, _at least one of us will have a full stomach tonight._

A creak sounded in the corner, and he whipped around, to realise that someone – no, some _thing_ – was in his room. He startled, adrenaline rocketing through his body, and automatically reached for the wand by his bedside.

Huge green eyes bugged out at him from the darkness.

"What are you?" Harry demanded in a hiss, hearing the voices of the Masons float upstairs.

Perhaps it sounded rather rude, but that wasn't the first thing on his mind at the moment.

The creature stepped out of the shadows cast by the cabinet, bowing so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes, and it didn't look much of a threat – but his grip on the wand only tightened.

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, Harry Potter, sir… Such an honour it is…"

Harry hissed at it to shut up, sure that if Uncle Vernon heard, or saw, any of this, he'd get much worse than no dinner.

"Why are you here?" he asked, forcefully, still unwilling to put away his wand. "And be quiet about it, please."

It – Dobby, stared at him in undisguised admiration, going almost cross-eyed.

" _Please?_ " Dobby wailed, bursting into very noisy tears. "Never… never ever…"

"Dobby, stop it!" Harry grunted.

He heard noises falter downstairs and made to reach for the elf, wanting little more than to strangle it. Dobby jumped back, banging into the wall, and Harry jumped out of the bed, clamping his hand over its mouth.

"If you don't shut up, Dobby, I'll have to hex you," he whispered directly into Dobby's large, bat-like ear, as the noises downstairs stopped completely.

"Just the cat," Harry heard Aunt Petunia's faint and feeble assurances.

"You've got me in chest-deep trouble, Dobby," Harry sighed. "Just… tell me what you're here for, alright, then leave."

Dobby nodded furiously and leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks ago… that Harry Potter escaped yet again."

Harry nodded, though his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears, and yet –

"Who are you, really, Dobby?"

Dobby ignored it, shaking his head, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing.

"Harry Potter is not like other Slytherins…" Dobby said, rocking on his feet. "Harry Potter is good, and Harry Potter … _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts_."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

 _Huh._

Harry sat back, thinking. A moment passed, then –

"Okay, I won't go back."

Dobby blinked, looking as if he hadn't expected such an answer. Then he beamed, sniffling.

"Harry Potter is a good, good wizard," he sputtered. "If sir be… if sir be needing anything, call for Dobby. Yes, yes… you is safe here, Harry Potter."

Harry almost felt bad, but he supposed it was worth it, having Dobby finally leave him alone. He was wrong, anyway – he wasn't safe here. Dobby bowed once more, and just as suddenly – and silently – as he'd come, the house-elf vanished, leaving something package-like behind. Harry edged closer, squinting, and when he realised what it was, he couldn't help the noise of disbelief that escaped him. If he ever saw that elf again…

Harry shook his head, tearing into the letters.

* * *

As the front door clicked shut, the Masons finally leaving after almost two hours, Harry dropped his wand into the space under the loose floorboard, not wanting to risk the chance of his uncle laying a finger on it. He shoved the stack letters deep into the cabinet, just in time for his door to slam open.

Harry had been expecting it, but at the sight of his uncle, red-faced and panting, he cowed instinctively.

"What did I say, boy?" Uncle Vernon shouted, spittle flying.

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry mumbled, a touch nervous, for the first time in a long time.

Uncle Vernon stormed in, fisting the collar of his shirt.

"Didn't you understand me?" he spat, right in Harry's face.

Harry nodded frantically, but it was no use. He flinched as the fist came at him, hitting him square in the nose. Harry heard a crack, and the violent spray of blood seemed to shock his uncle into releasing him. Harry crashed to the floor, the hand he'd placed to break his fall bending awkwardly beneath him, and he groaned.

"You're lucky I didn't lose my business deal," Uncle Vernon said, and stalked out, slamming the door again behind him.

Harry grimaced, slowly getting to his feet. He dragged himself over to his trunk, digging around for a cloth to stem the flow of blood. All he could find, though, were school robes.

 _Ah, whatever._

Pressing the robes to his nose, Harry whimpered as pain shot through his entire head. He coughed, wheezing, tasting the coppery tang in his mouth. He stepped slowly towards the window, rolling his wrist as he did so, trying to shake away the pulsing along his right arm.

"Hedwig," he called, and even to him, it sounded incomprehensible.

(If Hedwig had heard that, well, he'd just love her more.)

He knew now, why Draco or any of his friends hadn't been answering, but this burden wasn't for them to bear. Harry pulled a piece of parchment towards him, wincing. Resting it on the windowsill, his hand shook as he scribbled, the words almost illegible.

 ** _Professor,_**

 ** _I need help._**

* * *

 **A/N:**

This is the sequel to "Potter in Green", if you haven't already realised. If you really want, I guess you could start reading the series from here, but things won't really, fully, make sense unless you've read the first fic, so I suggest you head there first. And if you're here from "Potter in Green", well, I am so grateful to have you back, and I hope that this one will be just as good - but hopefully even better.

Since Harry's a Slytherin, the past has gone differently, and so will the future. With this in mind, this is how I envision the summer before second year to play out, and from here on out, in certain ways, the plots diverge significantly from canon.

I hope I made it believable, at least. Either way, it was a joy to write - I don't think I've smashed out a chapter this quickly in such a long time. (It only took three hours, if you were wondering.)

Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll come back. Please leave a like and review; they mean the world to me.

Until next time.


	2. Seeing is Believing

**Chapter 2: Seeing is Believing**

The blood stemmed and the wounds healing after draining Snape's vial of medical potions, Harry sighed, the parchment crinkling in his hands.

 ** _"It is the truth, Mr Potter, that I hold nothing but animosity for your Muggle relatives._**

 ** _As I am privy to your tendency to assign culpability to your person, I say this: the fault is not yours, nor are you deserving of such treatment. Mr Potter, what you deserve is a childhood, and yet, though I yearn otherwise, I cannot offer this, not now, without either one of us suffering the consequences._**

 ** _I apologise, truly, that I cannot personally remove you from your relatives', but you have my word; I will do what I can to ensure your safety. Three days, Mr Potter. Allow me that._**

 ** _And know this, should you not retain anything else. However it may seem, you are not alone._**

 ** _P.S. I am certain Mr Malfoy would be a more than adequate confidant."_**

Harry had been hoping to be whisked away, of course, but like every hope of his, it wasn't to be.

And Draco… well, Draco had his own problems to deal with.

And yet, though he didn't quite understand, he felt the sincerity in those words – like maybe, Snape _knew_ – and he trusted the man. Maybe someone else's word, or best, may not have been enough, but he knew Snape's was.

In the end, he'd survived – maybe he hadn't _lived_ , but he'd survived – eleven years under this roof; he'd give Snape three days, whatever that would mean.

And he would grin and bear it (and stay out of the Dursleys' way), just like he did everything else.

It was that thought that, funnily enough, lulled him to sleep.

* * *

Lying on the threadbare covers of his bed as the morning's first rays drifted in, his eyes fixated on the ceiling, Harry didn't notice when his door was pushed open.

"Do you always have to set him off?"

Harry startled, going for his wand almost immediately, before registering the figure's identity.

Aunt Petunia stood at the doorframe, a first-aid kit clutched in one hand. The permanent frown that marred her face in Harry's presence was stronger than ever, but it was the disapproval in her eyes that Harry took offense to.

" _I_ set him off?" Harry challenged, scoffing.

Aunt Petunia glanced away and though only for a moment, Harry knew that she knew he was right. The silence stretched on, but before it could grow any more awkward, Petunia jerked the kit in Harry's direction. Though surprised, Harry didn't show it, instead scrambling to take it before the offer could be rescinded.

A question formed on his lips, but even in his hesitation, Aunt Petunia seemed to understand.

"You're not the only one who lost her that night," Petunia said, almost a whisper.

Harry's eyes narrowed and he stepped back, arms crossed defensively.

Not once had Petunia even acknowledged his mother's existence, and _now_ –

"I know you don't care, Aunt Petunia," Harry scowled. "Whatever you're playing at–"

Harry cut himself off, wincing at the pain that flickered across her eyes.

"They're all I have, you know. Vernon and Dudley," Petunia paused, and looked Harry right in the eye. "And I may not like you, but you're all I have left of Lily."

They were, perhaps, the most profound words Harry had ever heard spoken at Privet Drive. And no, they would not ever be enough for Harry to forgive her, but if anything, he understood. And with Aunt Petunia, he thought, understanding was good enough.

The only thing Harry could say to that was a thank you, and with that, the moment was over.

"Don't come down until Vernon leaves," she chided, frown back in place.

And just as unexpectedly as she'd come, she was gone.

* * *

Harry figured his Aunt must've done something, because Vernon didn't touch him the next three days – and neither did Dudley, which was a welcome surprise. They'd locked him in – installed a cat flap and all – and it hurt, of course, but they'd kept him fed and watered, and he hated them still, but it wasn't so bad now, knowing that he wasn't alone.

Hedwig cooed, seemingly sensing his mood, and Harry reached over to ruffle her feathers.

Then the doorbell sounded, and Harry stiffened. Doorbells could mean any measure of things, and Harry hoped to Nimue that it meant something good, this time – his life had been lacking sorely in that regard, recently.

And if Aunt Petunia's typical reception being suddenly cut short, or the too-careful creaking of the stairs weren't enough to alert him, the sliding of his locks did. Immediately wary, but somewhat hopeful, Harry scrambled to his feet, wand already in hand.

"Hello, Harry."

The man in the doorway greeted him with a weary, but warm smile – which, really, seemed to sum up his whole figure. Harry eyed him – his frayed blazer and scratch-lined face – hesitantly, wand still gripped tightly, though somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt a stirring of familiarity.

"Do I know you?"

"I suppose you could say so," the man replied, his tone vaguely amused.. "I'm Remus Lupin, Uncle Moony, if you prefer."

"Uncle Moony?" Harry murmured questioningly, brow furrowed.

"A story for another time. But for now…," Lupin paused, his eyes sweeping around the room in what Harry took to be contempt. "Let's get you out of here, eh, Harry."

Harry blushed involuntarily, hackles rising.

"We're not all children of privilege, Mr Lupin," Harry said, voice tightly.

Lupin's eyes flashed in surprise and he met Harry's, apologetic.

"Forgive me, I meant no offense," Lupin said, clasping his hands before him.

Harry scowled, unimpressed.

"I'd forgotten how Slytherins are," he chuckled.

Harry rolled his eyes, ready for a confrontation – he always was, these days – no matter that manners required him to be civil, if not polite.

Lupin shook his head slightly, smiling sadly.

"I'm making a right mess of this, aren't I?" Lupin mused, proceeding to wipe a hand on his shirt and offer it to Harry. "Remus Lupin; I was told you were in need of help."

 _Ah._

Harry sighed, taking Lupin's hand firmly.

"You should've opened with that, Mr Lupin… Remus," he amended at Lupin's reproachful look.

"Well, we got there in the end," Lupin said, gaze flitting over to Hedwig. "I'll take your owl, and you pack your things. We have someplace else to be."

* * *

Aunt Petunia stood at the doorstep, glaring at the trunk in Harry's hand – a rather empty trunk, by all accounts, which Lupin had tutted at, and shot sorrowful glances at Harry for – and at Lupin, who stood guardedly in front of Harry.

"You can't just…," she screeched, waving the washcloth in her hand. "I'll call – Vernon won't stand for this."

It never ceased to amuse Harry just how much more foolish the Dursleys could get.

"Neither will I, Mrs Dursley," Lupin countered, voice hard. "I will not, in good conscience, stand by while a child is abused."

"I'm not _abused_ ," Harry protested, at the same time as Aunt Petunia's 'we would never!' echoed in the hall.

Lupin glanced at Harry, then at Aunt Petunia, and hummed. His voice dropped, and he leaned in close, murmuring something that Harry couldn't quite catch – though he did hear 'Lily' and 'ashamed'.

Aunt Petunia paled and Harry's eyes widened.

"If you'll excuse us, Petunia," Lupin smiled, predatory, and his aunt was more than happy to scamper.

Harry barely stopped his jaw from dropping. For all the compassion Lupin had shown, it wasn't all there was to him, and whatever history they shared, and whoever Remus Lupin was, Harry vowed to find out.

"Come along, Harry, it's a long drive ahead," Lupin grinned, and Harry grinned back easily.

Perhaps getting whisked away was a practical hope, after all, Harry thought.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Many, many apologies, my dear readers, for being gone so long! My final exams are done now, though, and my muse has returned - just as Lupin has for Harry. No one saw that coming, I suppose? But honestly, I can't wait to continue this fic, and see where Harry goes in future. And as always, thanks so much for reading - this couldn't be possible without you all!

Until next time,

paltropie.


	3. Hospitality

**Chapter 3: Hospitality**

Harry spent almost the entirety of the drive silent – a comforting silence, much unlike the stilted, barbed silence of the Dursleys' Vauxhall, whenever they so graciously allowed him in – despite Lupin's attempts at conversation. As they rolled through the suburbs, past the cabs and buses and bustle of London, into a scene of greenery and coast, and finally rolling to a stop before a row of townhouses, Harry barely took his eyes off the window.

"Come on," urged Lupin, as Harry hesitated to exit the car, holding a hooting Hedwig.

Harry had never been this far out of Surrey before, no matter that it was only Essex, and that other boys had probably travelled the world over by his age.

"I won't bite, I promise," Lupin said, retrieving Harry's trunk from the backseat and hiding a smile.

Harry had the feeling he was supposed to be amused, though at what, he didn't know. He huffed, shaking his head – if Snape had sent him, he supposed he could trust the man.

"Alright, I'm coming," Harry said, following after Lupin. "Is this where you live, Remus?"

"Mostly," he answered cryptically, as they padded up the steps.

They paused before the cream-coloured door, where the eyes of the door-knocker – a dragon – followed their every move. Looking around surreptitiously, Lupin tapped his wand against the door, then gestured for Harry to do the same.

And the door clicked open, rather anticlimactically, though Harry felt a warmth whoosh through him, standing his hairs on end.

"You'll always be welcome here now, Harry."

This time, the warmth that flooded him had nothing to do with magic – and Harry grinned, more grateful than he could express, silently thanking Snape, and Remus, whom had been nothing but kind. Harry wondered, absently, if this was what having a father was like, then shut that thought away, quick as it'd come – such wishes were for children, and he'd stopped being one, a long time ago.

Harry stiffened as a hand settled on his back, but when it dropped, Harry couldn't say he wasn't disappointed.

Lupin stared at him, flinty eyes flickering with words, though he finally settled on a simple,

"Let's go inside."

Harry complied, and was shown through the house, which Harry marvelled at. In some other place, the orange and yellows would've been stifling, but here, it was cosy; throws over well-used sofas and piles of books made the house looked lived in, and the moving pictures along the walls, with the frames' inhabitants in some cases, familiar, made it more than a house – it made it a home. Harry loved it, instantly, even before he was guided upstairs.

"And this is yours, Harry, for as long as you want it," Lupin announced, sweeping his arms dramatically.

Harry peeked around Lupin, stunned.

"I hope the blue's to your liking," the man quipped.

It was – and it was a nice touch, when most instinctively assumed that green would be his favourite colour. The room was furnished simply, and the walls were bare, but he could already imagine making it his.

Harry glanced at Remus, hoping his appreciation was clear.

"None of that, Harry," Lupin returned, pushing himself off the doorjamb. "I owe Severus a favour, and besides, your father would've done the same, were it my child."

Plans of unpacking forgotten, Harry fixed his attention on Remus. An intentional slip or not, the man had a story to tell, and Harry thought it was about time he got an explanation.

"I don't mean to sound rude, Remus, but why you?"

Remus unfolded his arms languidly, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Well, this is hardly the place for that conversation," he answered. "How about I explain over tea?"

"I'd like that, thank you," Harry accepted, grateful for Remus' hospitality.

He propped Hedwig's cage by the window, opening the hatch allowing her to explore as she wished – he didn't think Remus would mind – and promising that he'd be back soon, followed the man to the kitchen. As Remus moved to set the kettle to boil, Harry hovered awkwardly, unsure if he should offer a hand. As though he'd sensed it – which wouldn't surprise Harry, at this point – Remus quelled his worries by indicating the rattan dining chair.

Harry sat, relaxed in the pale sunny hues and aromatic spices of Remus' kitchen; it wasn't what he'd expected of a Wizarding home, but it was far from a disappointment.

"Why don't you use magic?" Harry ventured, when he noticed Remus light the stove manually.

"Muggles cope well enough," Remus replied, in lieu of an answer.

Harry's brow creased – it was becoming clear that Remus wasn't like any other wizard he knew.

"It's therapeutic," he offered a second later. "If it's possible, I'd rather not rely on my wand."

Harry understood, and he respected the man for it, but he didn't know if he agreed. He recalled Aunt Petunia smacking him with a pan for burning the bacon, for taking his eyes off the flame for just moment too long; now that magic was a possibility to perfect any, he'd much rather never have to go without it.

As the kettle came to a boil, Remus set the tea tray and a platter of biscuits in front of Harry.

"Help yourself, I don't often have someone around to save these sweets from expiry."

Harry nodded his thanks; he'd never felt this welcome as a guest before, even elderly Mrs Figg usually left him to his own devices as she napped with her cats. After everything, he didn't trust easily, but instinct told him he could warm to Remus – and instinct had always served him well.

"Milk?" Remus asked, serving the tea.

When Harry declined, asking for two sugars and a spoon of honey instead, Remus' eyes flicked to Harry, as though he'd said something far more interesting.

"Your mother had her tea in exactly the same way," he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "I never thought I'd see someone else willing to drink such sickeningly sweet stuff."

"Really?" Harry asked, pausing in the nibbling of a shortbread and wondering what he would give for Remus to tell him more of his parents.

The man shook his head, as if to take himself out of the past. Finished with stirring his tea, Remus set his spoon aside, leaning back in his chair.

"I met your father on the train to school; Lily we met later. I still remember the first thing James said to me," Remus began, his lips quirked. "'I think I'd leave if the Hat put me in Slytherin.'"

Harry scowled, but Remus spoke before he could defend his House, or mope over James and Lily Potters' reaction to him being a Slytherin.

"You'll have to forgive us… eleven-year-olds aren't known for their sense of perspective."

"I know someone who said the same thing about Gryffindor," Harry returned, shrugging, and at the same time realised that he probably should send Draco an owl.

Remus graced him with a smile.

"You'll know, then," the man said, and took a sip of his tea.

"James was lucky green and silver don't go well on me, or I'd have hexed him – not that I knew any spells, either way," Remus added. "But at that age, I was… shy, and I'd like to think he'd still be my first real friend, even if I'd roughed him up."

Harry could relate, and though he felt like Remus was keeping something from him, he didn't mention it, caught on the similarities between their childhoods.

"You've probably guessed, but we were Sorted together, and you can't help but be friends, spending seven years sharing a dorm. Especially if it was James Potter – him and Sirius, they were the most popular kids in school, Peter and I were only noticed by association."

Harry glanced at Remus curiously; he'd sounded pained bringing up this 'Sirius' and 'Peter'.

"We called ourselves the Marauders," Remus winced as he revealed that piece of information, as if he couldn't believe they'd named their clique.

Harry pondered what Draco – and Hermione – would think if he suggested something similar, and decided it probably wasn't worth it to try.

"What about Mum?" Harry asked.

"James pulled Lily's pigtails the first day of school, literally and from then till fifth year, they never did anything but flirt or curse each other on sight. It didn't help that Severus was Lily's best friend, and of course, James hated Severus on principle. Lily hated that James hated Severus… you get the idea."

Remus looked up sharply, like he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"I know about Mum and Professor Snape," Harry said, and Remus visibly relaxed.

"He's a good man, Severus, but he's terrifying."

Harry completely agreed.

Remus pushed the biscuits closer to Harry, who gladly took another.

"Anyway, we all saw it coming. They married right out of Hogwarts and…" Remus trailed off, gesturing to indicate Harry.

Harry blushed.

Remus' expression turned ruminating, then.

"I was wondering if you'd remember me," he said.

Harry felt a pang of guilt and automatically turned to apologise, but Remus waved him off, muttering about overestimating toddlers' memories.

"It's fine, Harry, the last time I saw you, you were barely two."

Harry understood, now, why Snape had sent Lupin, but something still itched at him and it was too pressing for subtlety. He knew what Draco would say, but to hell with it.

"If you were friends, why didn't you take me?"

The 'why leave me with the Dursleys'?' went unvoiced, but Harry supposed they both knew it anyway.

Though Remus' face fell, Harry didn't regret asking the question.

"I tried, Harry, but the Ministry insisted it wasn't an option," Remus explained.

Who did the Ministry think they were, meddling in personal affairs? He was the Boy Who Lived, he got that, but if he'd grown up with someone who'd had his best interests at heart… well, maybe he and Draco wouldn't be friends, and he couldn't imagine a world where that was the reality.

"But I do owe you an apology, for not reaching out before."

Harry shrugged, resigned to it as he was to many things in life.

"It's alright," he stated. "You're here now. That has to count for something."

"Thanks, kid. You have your mother's heart," Remus said.

It warmed Harry from tip to toe.

"Well," Remus grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of tea gone cold. "I suppose you'll want some time to get organised."

Somehow, Remus knew him well, and Harry didn't think it was just because he'd been a boy once.

"Go on, I'll call you down for dinner."

Their conversation playing in his head, one last thing stood out to him.

"Remus, about Sirius and Peter… what happened to them?"

Remus smiled, and it was one full of sorrow.

"Casualties of war, Harry," Remus answered, picking at his fraying sleeves. "Like your parents, their lives were cut short too young. If we're lucky, your generation will never have to experience that."

The mood significantly dampened, Harry made a hasty exit and resolved, unless Remus did, to never bring them up.

Heading back upstairs – to his room, he could hardly believe it – Harry thought it best to check in with Snape. Hedwig had perched herself on the lampstand in the corner of the desk Remus had provided and greeted him enthusiastically with a shake of her feathers.

"Hey girl, I've got a job a for you."

Hedwig nudged Harry with her beak and eyed him indignantly, as if to convey her exasperation in having to fly so soon after arriving.

"I know, but it doesn't look like we're not going back to Surrey, so you'll have the whole break to relax."

Harry chuckled at his familiar's attempt to roll her eyes and retrieved the self-inking quill and stash of parchment he'd kept in his trunk.

 ** _Dear Professor Snape,_** he wrote,

 ** _I'm safe._**

 ** _I can't thank you enough._**

 ** _Harry Potter_**

And to Draco, he also penned a short note.

 ** _Dear Draco,_**

 ** _I'm sorry I haven't been writing. I'd thought you'd forgotten about me, but it turns out a house elf was stealing my mail. It's a long story, but I'm no longer with my relatives and I think it's possible for us to meet up during the summer. Do you think your parents would allow it?_**

 ** _I miss you already._**

 ** _Harry_**

He rolled up the letters, attaching them to Hedwig's heel and reeled off their names.

As Harry watched her go, he realised what he was feeling was contentment. He'd never thought it could happen this summer, but it had, and Harry sorely hoped it would stay that way.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hi, my dear readers, it's been an age. I'm not sure why I've left this on the backburner, but it's lovely to be back!

Right now, I'm working on another Harry Potter fic, which is vastly different to this one - I hope to post the first chapter of that soon, as well as the next chapter of this fic, but until then... enjoy!

You all keep me going, and whether you've been here from day one, or just jumped on, I'm immensely thankful for each and every one of you who've read, fav-ed or reviewed these fics. I hope you keep them coming!

Sadly, real life awaits, so this is paltropie, signing off.


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